[It's the only reason she told Ellie about what happened, to try to covince her how dangerous he is, even if he can seems nice at times.]
He's mafiya, and the Russians are the worst of the worst. [She knows Saul is a criminal lawyer, that he must deal with some nasty things, but she doubts he's been so unlucky as to run into vor.] He calls me dyevochka - little girl - and he says he doesn't fuck little girls, but--
[She isn't sure how to finish that sentence, just swallows around the lump in her throat and shrugs, casting a brief glance at Saul to try to... read his reaction or see if she should offer an apology or - anything.]
[Saul deals with Latin gangs, mostly, which are... bad. Maybe not as bad, but this isn't unfamiliar territory, to him. He's not shocked. Not even all that upset, really, but that's only because he's suddenly so angry that nothing else registers.]
Stay away from him.
[He may not be her boss, but the sharp edge to his voice sure does make it sound like he's telling her what to do.]
And if he doesn't stay away from you — [A breath, to steady himself.] Tell him he needs to talk to your lawyer.
[She sets her jaw, forces herself not to flinch at the sharpness in his tone. It's stupid, and she knows it, but some reactions are hard to ignore.]
He'll stay away from me. [Somehow she manages to sound steady, and manages not to laugh at the thought of Saul dealing with Nikolai on her behalf (it would've been a hysterical laugh, anyway).] I told him I'd take his hands if he touched me again, and he knows I meant it.
[Becase she would, she wouldn't even think about.]
[It's not that he doesn't think Steph can't take care of herself — he's just learned, lately, that this is a place where the gap between talk and action is huge, and one doesn't lead to the other like it did back home. Maybe he's trying to learn to do a little more of the latter.
He drops his gaze to the floor, frowning. When he looks back up, the anger's vanished, and he almost looks... sad, maybe.]
Yeah. [She's sorry, too, even if she feels like she should say something more like you didn't do anything wrong or it's not your fault. She just can't.
She wishes she had another drink, but asking for that seems like something beyond her right now, too.]
There was-- [God, she hasn't really talked about this since telling Tim and she just has to remind herself to breathe for a second.] I was eleven.
[Looking at Saul right now is entirely out of the question, Steph just runs a hand through her hair, like that might help with any of this.] Nothing-- It's not-- [Come on, Brown, talk.] It doesn't matter, this is just... complicated.
[Complicated doesn't really seem like a strong enough word.]
I should go.
[She should really go, but she's not actually sure how to manage it.]
[Dealing with clients is one thing. Dealing with friends is another. Dealing with this? He doesn't even know where to start. He can't — touch her, pat her shoulder or anything. None of that. Not now.]
You don't have to talk about it. You can, uh —
[He gestures vaguely toward the bed, then out toward the hall. What is he trying to say?]
If you want. I mean — if you'd rather not go. No one'll bother you. I'll take the couch. You can have the liquor, too.
[problem solving with saul goodman
At least his intent is genuine. He's concerned. Worried, even. And he has no idea what else to do about it.]
[It's kind of mean, but she just - laughs, shaky and maybe just bordering on bitter and hysterical, because it's not actually funny, that he's struggling to figure out how to deal with this mess she's just thrown at him.]
Sorry. [She drags her thumb along the rim of the glass, letting it dig into her skin a little.] I just wanted to explain. I probably should've... done it better.
[The bottle is accepted gratefully, and she tries to poor herself a glass, she really does, but her hands aren't steady enough that she'll be able to manage it without spilling scotch everywhere. So she just takes a drink straight from the bottle, but at least when she's moving the bottle back down, she manages to finally look at him, if only because she's so incredulous at what he just said.]
[What's on her jaw is the bruise from where Helena punched her, and she'd done a half-decent job of covering it up, but apparently she missed the spot where the bruise stretches under her chin.
She really hadn't wanted Saul to see that.]
That'd be a bruise. [Briefly, she considers lying, but even if he'd buy it, she feels like she owes him better than that.] Someone from back home thought I wasn't me. [No, that doesn't make sense.] Or - thought I was pretending to be me. They didn't think I was Steph, basically. I let them hit me 'cause I knew it'd make them feel better.
[Oh boy.
At least this is easier than talking about Murray or Nikolai.]
so I knew this tag was coming and had to get it out before dozing off
[It takes her a second, but then she realizes what he's asking for, and hands the bottle over.
She also realizes she needs to explain.]
Someone faked my death. It was kind of a clusterfuck, but, um, I guess you saw-- [She gestures at herself, at the scars hidden under her clothes. He must have seen them, when she in that hospital gown.] She thought I was mocking my own memory. [a beat] Kinda feels true, sometimes.
[She was-- Okay no she wasn't joking, but this is the same thing that happened with Atlas when she joked about being dead, isn't it?
Sometimes flippancy probably isn't appropriate, and she just looks really sorry for mentioning it.]
Doesn't matter. [She waves a hand as if to dismiss it, casually moving in to steal the bottle back, if he'll let her.] I don't even have it that bad, compared to a lot of people back home.
That's how we make ourselves feel better, right? Life sucks, but someone has it worse. Starving kids in Africa, and all that. [There's a pause as he leans back against his desk, expression twisted into a scowl.] Don't do that to yourself, Stephanie.
I went to Africa, while I was "dead". [Actual airquotes, even with the bottle in her hands, before she takes a long drink.] They were great kids, even the ones who'd been in the hospital for years. Used to drag me out to go swimming even though--
[Even though talking was a struggle, even though she flinched every time someone touched her, even though the sound of a car backfiring would make her scream.
She takes another swig.]
One of the first times I talked to my best friend, I told her about how daddy dearest used to lock me in the closet when he was mad. And she was, you know, appropriately upset on my behalf, but when I asked what her dad would do, she told me he'd shoot her.
[Why is she still talking?
She just looks at Saul, hands spread in a sort of what can you do? gesture.]
All I could do was laugh.
[Because how could she compare being shoved in a closet to being shot. And what else can she do but tell herself that someone has it worse.]
She turns her gaze away; feeling almost like an intruder on something she isn't meant to see, not when Saul looks like that.]
Sorry.
[She was just talking, because that's what she does sometimes, when she doesn't know what to do and when she's gotten on a roll. Stopping is hard, once she's gotten started on something.]
[So about that stupid thing he wanted to do earlier but didn't do, with the kissing her bruised jaw...
He still doesn't. What he does do, though, is advance carefully. She has room to bail, room to punch him, whatever. Frankly, he's expecting both — which is why, if she lets him get close enough to carry this out, he'll almost flinch when his lips touch her cheek.
It's a gentle kiss. Not quick, but not too drawn-out to suggest anything other than genuine care and concern.]
[She doesn't do anything, just goes still, watching him approach because she knows what he's planning to do and isn't sure how to react. If anything, it's a surprise - and a relief? - that he just kisses her cheek, enough that she actually remembers things like breathing are necessary.]
Saul. [There's something a little pleading in it, but not like when she was teasing him, it's more don't do this.
She can't-- doesn't know what to do, so she just lets out a shaky breath, copes the way she always does and tries to ignore how white her knuckles must be around the bottle.] You know, I don't think that's the typical response when people are jerks to you.
[Since that's basically what she's been, coming in here and dumping all her nonsense on him.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
controlledvariable) wrote2014-02-02 07:59 pm
CW: sexual assault
[It's the only reason she told Ellie about what happened, to try to covince her how dangerous he is, even if he can seems nice at times.]
He's mafiya, and the Russians are the worst of the worst. [She knows Saul is a criminal lawyer, that he must deal with some nasty things, but she doubts he's been so unlucky as to run into vor.] He calls me dyevochka - little girl - and he says he doesn't fuck little girls, but--
[She isn't sure how to finish that sentence, just swallows around the lump in her throat and shrugs, casting a brief glance at Saul to try to... read his reaction or see if she should offer an apology or - anything.]
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Stay away from him.
[He may not be her boss, but the sharp edge to his voice sure does make it sound like he's telling her what to do.]
And if he doesn't stay away from you — [A breath, to steady himself.] Tell him he needs to talk to your lawyer.
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He'll stay away from me. [Somehow she manages to sound steady, and manages not to laugh at the thought of Saul dealing with Nikolai on her behalf (it would've been a hysterical laugh, anyway).] I told him I'd take his hands if he touched me again, and he knows I meant it.
[Becase she would, she wouldn't even think about.]
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He drops his gaze to the floor, frowning. When he looks back up, the anger's vanished, and he almost looks... sad, maybe.]
I'm sorry.
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She wishes she had another drink, but asking for that seems like something beyond her right now, too.]
There was-- [God, she hasn't really talked about this since telling Tim and she just has to remind herself to breathe for a second.] I was eleven.
[Looking at Saul right now is entirely out of the question, Steph just runs a hand through her hair, like that might help with any of this.] Nothing-- It's not-- [Come on, Brown, talk.] It doesn't matter, this is just... complicated.
[Complicated doesn't really seem like a strong enough word.]
I should go.
[She should really go, but she's not actually sure how to manage it.]
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You don't have to talk about it. You can, uh —
[He gestures vaguely toward the bed, then out toward the hall. What is he trying to say?]
If you want. I mean — if you'd rather not go. No one'll bother you. I'll take the couch. You can have the liquor, too.
[problem solving with saul goodman
At least his intent is genuine. He's concerned. Worried, even. And he has no idea what else to do about it.]
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Sorry. [She drags her thumb along the rim of the glass, letting it dig into her skin a little.] I just wanted to explain. I probably should've... done it better.
[Is there any good way to explain all that?]
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[Well, no. "Glad" isn't the right word. He nudges the bottle toward her.]
I appreciate that you told me. It's just —
[Maybe this'll be easier, if he keeps it businesslike. Or it'll make him want to laugh in a not-amused way. Or both?]
How should we proceed from here?
[...no, just the latter. Really, Saul?]
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Really?
[Just - really.]
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But there's a trace of something else in his expression now, too, aside from the faint embarrassment. Curiosity?]
What's that on your jaw?
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Um.
[What's on her jaw is the bruise from where Helena punched her, and she'd done a half-decent job of covering it up, but apparently she missed the spot where the bruise stretches under her chin.
She really hadn't wanted Saul to see that.]
That'd be a bruise. [Briefly, she considers lying, but even if he'd buy it, she feels like she owes him better than that.] Someone from back home thought I wasn't me. [No, that doesn't make sense.] Or - thought I was pretending to be me. They didn't think I was Steph, basically. I let them hit me 'cause I knew it'd make them feel better.
[Oh boy.
At least this is easier than talking about Murray or Nikolai.]
so I knew this tag was coming and had to get it out before dozing off
Good god, man.
Instead, he frowns, expression critical and a little disappointed.]
'cause you knew it'd make them feel better. That's great, Steph.
heather pls. also saul pls
She thought I was dead. My funeral would've only been a few months ago, for her.
[As if that even remotely explains the situation.
She's a bit too wrapped up in her own thoughts to realize how bad that all sounds.]
abloo
Saul makes a gimme motion at her. The bottle, Steph. Please.]
womp womp
She also realizes she needs to explain.]
Someone faked my death. It was kind of a clusterfuck, but, um, I guess you saw-- [She gestures at herself, at the scars hidden under her clothes. He must have seen them, when she in that hospital gown.] She thought I was mocking my own memory. [a beat] Kinda feels true, sometimes.
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It looks like he's about to pour himself a glass, then — nah. Screw it. From the bottle it is.]
Your life.
[Just.
That's all he can say.]
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[She sounds so dismissive about it all but it's pretty much make a joke of it or burst into tears at this point.
And the latter would be super embarrassing.]
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Why is she telling him all this?]
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Sometimes flippancy probably isn't appropriate, and she just looks really sorry for mentioning it.]
Doesn't matter. [She waves a hand as if to dismiss it, casually moving in to steal the bottle back, if he'll let her.] I don't even have it that bad, compared to a lot of people back home.
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[Another swig, and then he hands it back.]
That's how we make ourselves feel better, right? Life sucks, but someone has it worse. Starving kids in Africa, and all that. [There's a pause as he leans back against his desk, expression twisted into a scowl.] Don't do that to yourself, Stephanie.
cw: child abuse
[Even though talking was a struggle, even though she flinched every time someone touched her, even though the sound of a car backfiring would make her scream.
She takes another swig.]
One of the first times I talked to my best friend, I told her about how daddy dearest used to lock me in the closet when he was mad. And she was, you know, appropriately upset on my behalf, but when I asked what her dad would do, she told me he'd shoot her.
[Why is she still talking?
She just looks at Saul, hands spread in a sort of what can you do? gesture.]
All I could do was laugh.
[Because how could she compare being shoved in a closet to being shot. And what else can she do but tell herself that someone has it worse.]
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Yeah, this is as close to seeing Saul nearly cry as anyone will ever get. He really, really looks like he wants to. He doesn't, of course, but.
Stephanie.
What the fuck.
What the fuck, seriously.]
Why are you telling me this?
[It almost sounds like an accusation, the way he says it.]
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That's-- Oh.
She turns her gaze away; feeling almost like an intruder on something she isn't meant to see, not when Saul looks like that.]
Sorry.
[She was just talking, because that's what she does sometimes, when she doesn't know what to do and when she's gotten on a roll. Stopping is hard, once she's gotten started on something.]
I'm kind of a dick. Surprise.
[Haha
Ha.]
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He still doesn't. What he does do, though, is advance carefully. She has room to bail, room to punch him, whatever. Frankly, he's expecting both — which is why, if she lets him get close enough to carry this out, he'll almost flinch when his lips touch her cheek.
It's a gentle kiss. Not quick, but not too drawn-out to suggest anything other than genuine care and concern.]
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Saul. [There's something a little pleading in it, but not like when she was teasing him, it's more don't do this.
She can't-- doesn't know what to do, so she just lets out a shaky breath, copes the way she always does and tries to ignore how white her knuckles must be around the bottle.] You know, I don't think that's the typical response when people are jerks to you.
[Since that's basically what she's been, coming in here and dumping all her nonsense on him.]
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GO BACK TO SLEEP
I am trying ;A;
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